"I think you're asking questions about something that isn't any of your business, Mr. Truggles," said Phyllis Allison, her eyes flashing ominously. "Blan Forsythe is ... different. We agreed to separate because it appeared I could give him no children. We were wrong, but it was too late, then." "So he turned to polygamy through a mad desire to produce children," murmured Truggles happily. "You say you were wrong? I thought the boy was your only child." "Donald is my only child, but he is Blan's child," said Phyllis, patting the boy on the shoulder. Truggles raised bushy eyebrows. "Wasn't it seven years ago you and Mr. Forsythe were divorced?" he asked pointedly. "Yes, and Donald is only five," she answered defiantly. "My husband--Dr. Allison--tells me I'm foolish to have the feeling I do that Donald is Blan's son. He says it's impossible. But I know it's true. I've been working with Donnie, and, Mr. Truggles...." She leaned forward intently and fixed her gaze gravely on Truggles' face. "... Donnie has the Power!" she said in a tense whisper. Truggles blinked. Phyllis Allison sat back and looked embarrassed, as though she had not intended to confide so much. Truggles asked no more questions. He did not pursue the line of inquiry this revelation at once brought to mind. He took his leave as graciously as possible and left the house. He knew that both Phyllis Allison and her son watched him as he walked out the door with shoulders bent in a show of humility. But it was the boy's eyes he felt. Phyllis Allison. The fresh memory of her slender beauty, her wide, honest eyes, struck pain in Truggles' heart. They were rare--but why did he seem to run across them so often?--these women who reminded him of _her_. His lost love, his long-lost love, the smiling fairy with the dancing heart, without whom life never had been quite complete again. The woman really believed the boy was Blan Forsythe's child. It was pathetic. And that reference to Donald's having "the power:" Truggles wondered how many women he had known who thought their sons were "different," who even convinced themselves that the children had been sired by a dream prince or such like. Deluded souls, to so excuse their sins! He straightened and ran his fingers through his short-clipped gray hair as he strode along the walk. The extensive lawn of Blan Forsythe's mansion stretched only two doors away from the bungalow he had just left. It was decked with flower beds and evergreens. Truggles was too circumspect to do anything openly at this stage. But he shook a fist at the stone pile, mentally.